Sunday, March 27, 2011

My darling, up in the aerie in platinum light at ten to six with my glass of wine, back from an afternoon's excursion to Great Barrington where I caught an intriguing, enigmatic film that I didn't quite grasp. I'm actually getting it better now as I peek at a few links in connection with putting together this post.
Maybe I was better off with the enigma. I didn't know the Juliette Binoche character was an art dealer. I thought they were married, if long estranged. I thought he was incapable of emotional intimacy - the reason for their long estrangement. Do you suppose I may have been projecting? I'll readily admit that I was, in trying to make sense of it - but that's okay I think, that's part of the beauty of a purposely unexplained, not all the clues filled in, dots connected sort of film - like a dream.

Main story aside, the film was beautifully directed - many scenes included, in the background, the concurrent orbit of everyday peripheral life that goes on, all these other people, each in their individual universes of moments and perceptions. If my attention wandered from the main character taking a seat in front of a beautiful nude statue at a fountain in a Tuscany village square, my eye (without ever leaving off the lovely Juliette Binoche and wondering a touch wantonly about the upper regions of the longlegged statue) might light on passersby on the other side of the fountain, as they come and go, their own little planets in orbit, in this - our - everyday multiverse.

My darling, the trip about paid for itself too. It's a bit of splurge to go for a long drive to GB for a matinee, especially since part of the ritual (as D well knows and factored in, leaving me more than enough money) is to stop into a beautiful cheese shop on the main street there to get camembert and if I'm lucky, "day old" bread that, if there is any, they put in a huge market basket at the front of the store near the register. Dear Reader, I came away with some eight loaves (three baguettes and five other amazing breads, raisin nut, olive, multigrain (2) and Italian rustic) - for which I was charged all of ten dollars! Which covered the full-priced lasciviously delicious French camembert. I had a few minutes before the movie was to begin, and I was hungry, so I went back to the car parked behind the main street in the municipal lot, and as delicately as I could tore off bits of the plump cheese that I took pleasure in unwrapping, as well as a baguette end that was so hard I had to almost gnaw at it - my haul, I surmise, may have been two-day-old bread.

My dearest darling, should tear myself away from writing to you (kissing you, under wraps) and attend to all that bread that should be sliced and frozen to be pulled out a couple of slices at a time in the coming weeks as toast for breakfast (and offerings for snow geese). Plus croutons to be made from at least one of the baguettes...

Perhaps you and I for real one day will drive around together - admiring cypresses, and one another


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